


chrysanthemums in the sunlight

by sockablock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (more or less), Character Study, Drabble from prompt request!, Gen, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Relationships with Death, chill cow boy's kid years, gratuitous use of flower language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 17:35:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17985635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockablock/pseuds/sockablock
Summary: The most natural thing in the world is for a body to return to the Mother who made it.Even Caduceus, young as he is, knows this better than anything.





	chrysanthemums in the sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> based off a prompt from @asleepythief on tumblr who asked: 
> 
> Possible fic request - I've been thinking about Caduceus, and how he seems to be very familiar with the families from which he "gets" his tea. I kind of wonder if he knew any of them growing up, or if his family did? I'd love to read a like, short chapter fic that opens with a story of his meeting them, and then ends with him drinking their tea reminiscing.

Their family name is Aigner, and they arrive at the grove when Caduceus is seven.

His parents are thrilled, ecstatic even. It’s been almost a decade since the last visitors trekked through the Savalierwood and survived. They are ushered quickly into the temple that has been the Clay household for centuries, and his family begins the process of making their guests comfortable and treating their injuries. Caduceus’s father busies himself in the kitchen, and his mother gets to work setting the ankle of the youngest Aigner: a little half-elven girl who couldn’t have been older than five. 

Caduceus is very curious about her. Not just because they are the closest in size, but also because of her tears. Because of the way she wails after Mother gently takes her foot and pops the joints back into place.

He does not understand the crying—why should she be sad when she is being healed?

He tugs on Corrin’s sleeve as he rushes by with an armful of towels, but gets nothing more than a hurried, “Later, Cad, later. We’re busy, right now.”

He is unsatisfied with this lack of a response, but does not let it show. His brother  _is_ right. This is the most activity their household has seen in years. 

He hangs around the periphery as his parents and the rest of his siblings listen to the Aigner’s request. The father, an older human man with hair going early grey, has traveled here with his children to lay his wife to rest. She was a follower of the Mother, he says, and her last wish had been to return to the wild. 

He has brought her body. It is in a crude wheelbarrow by the front of the temple. His greatest regret is that he could not have given her a more dignified vessel.

But Caduceus’s mother just shakes her head. She says, “A greater regret is forgetting to cherish what you’ve already done. Look at you. Look at your beautiful children. Look at what you accomplished, today.”

Caduceus’s father adds, “Come on. Let’s look for a good spot. Today, our family helps yours.”

Caduceus is swept up in the tide of movement that comes next. The father herds his three children out into the gentle forest sun, and Caduceus’s parents nudge their three children along as well. Father and Mother push the old wheelbarrow through the clearing, through thousands upon thousands of blooming spring flowers. The grass below their feet is soft, the air sweet, a warmth and peace drifting across the grounds with every playful puff of breeze.

The Aigners look much better than they had an hour ago, though the littlest girl still seems perturbed. Caduceus wonders how that ever could be possible. This grove is the most serene place in the world.

Eventually, they all arrive at a small patch of unclaimed earth. There is grass curling along the edges, but no life and no flowers mark the space as occupied.

Not yet, anyways. The father and older Aigner children help the Clays dig a pit.

They fill it. This part has never been anything but right. The most natural thing in the world is for a body to return to the Mother who made it.

Even Caduceus, young as he is, knows this better than anything.

Then comes the part where the mourning family says a few words. Their still-fresh scars, just-closed wounds, the splint on the little girl’s foot, says more.

And then the hole is filled back in. The Aigner father falls to his knees.

“I’ll see you again, my love. I promise.”

He pulls his children in close. They are in various states of tearful, as expected of a moment like this. 

Eventually, they stand. The father glances at Caduceus’s parents, and gives them both a faint, wry smile.

“She was supposed to outlive me,” he says. “She was supposed to outlive me by  _centuries_.”

“Death can be unexpected,” Mother nods. “Even when it is the only sure thing you can expect.”

The father gives a smile. He gestures slowly at the earth. “When will the flowers bloom?” he asks. “What will grow here?”

Cornelius Clay gives this a careful thought.

“Did she have a favorite flower?” he asks. “Perhaps a color she liked?”

“Chrysanthemums,” says a small, shaky voice. “Mommy liked chrysanthemums.”

They all glance down. The youngest girl had spoken. Her face is red from crying, her eyes are much too hard for her age. Her fists are clenched. Her shoulders are shaking.

For a moment, nobody responds. Her father, most of all, seems stunned. He reaches out as if to take her by the shoulder, but suddenly, Caduceus’s mother stops him.

She shakes her head. Then she turns to her youngest son.

“Do you remember the trick I showed you?” she asks.

Caduceus nods. Of course he does. He’s been practicing it every day.

“Do you know what flower we’re talking about?”

He nods again. He thinks he might know every flower there is.

His mother gives him a soft smile. “Then you’re in charge then, dear. Come back inside and let us know when you’re done.”

The father, Mister Aigner, blinks. “Wait, w—” he begins, but then Mister Clay whispers something in his ear. Their eyes flicker over Caduceus, and then the little girl.

The father seems to understand. He nods. He crouches down, and murmurs to his daughter, “It’s okay. Take all the time you need.”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t seem to want to.

Eventually, all of the older people leave. Corrin gives Caduceus a supportive thumbs-up as he runs after their parents back into the house.

And then, Caduceus and the little girl are alone.

There is a moment’s pause. Filled with song of a far-off swallow.

Then Caduceus turns towards her. He says, “Why are you upset?”

She stares at the ground. She bites her lip.

“’Cause Mommy’s dead.”

Her voice is a rasping whisper, and a groan of rage all at once. It is a terrible sound to come from the heart of a child.

But Caduceus is confused. He takes a seat against the barren dirt.

“So what?” he asks.

The girl seems thrown by this question.

“So…what?”

He nods. She considers this. Eventually she settles on:

“Mommy’s  _gone_. That’s what.”

Caduceus blinks and tilts his head. “I know that,” he says. “That’s what happens when people die.”

The girl does not take this nearly as well as he thought she would. She kicks the ground and whirls around on him.

“I  _know_!” she shouts. “I  _know_! That’s…that’s…Mommy is  _gone_. She’s  _gone_ , and she’s not coming back. How come?” she demands. “ _Why_? Why did that happen? It’s not  _fair_!”

“It’s not,” Caduceus agrees. “But it happened. I don’t know why. You dad didn’t tell us. Did he tell you?”

The little girl shakes with emotions she could never fully understand. That nobody really could.

“He just says that sometimes, people go away,” she cries. “Sometimes stuff happens, and they’re gone forever.”

Caduceus nods. This information is more in line with what he had been brought up to know. 

“That’s what dying is,” he says. “It’s natural.”

The little girl stares at the ground again, and then stares at the weird, skinny, fur-covered boy in front of her.

After a pause, she takes a seat next to him. She crosses her arms.

“I don’t care,” she says. “I just want my mom back.”

Caduceus, at least, can sympathize with that.

“I’m sorry she’s gone. I’m sorry you’re sad.”

She huffs. She folds her knees up and wraps her arms around them.

“It’s not fair,” she says again, quieter this time. “It’s not. Why does dying happen?”

Caduceus thinks for a moment. This is a question he has been pondering for some time, now.

“I think…I think that’s just the way things are. If people didn’t die, then the world would be different. I don’t know how, yet, but I know that it’s bad.”

“How could it be bad?” the girl mumbles. “In that world, my mommy is alive.”

They sit there in silence, for a while. The swallow darts across the sky and disappears into the trees beyond.

Then Caduceus asks, “Why did you cry, before?”

The girl lifts her head. She gives him an odd look.

“What?”

“Before,” he repeats. “When Mom fixed your foot. Why did you cry?”

She gives him a glare that manages to convey, in a second, how incredibly stupid he must be. 

“Because it hurt,” she says. “Duh.”

Caduceus sighs. “But you got fixed, after. The worst part was over, and now you can get better.”

She stares at him. “But it still hurt,” she says. “Right now, it still hurts a little.”

He blinks. He’d never thought of it like that.

They are quiet for a little longer.

Then the girl says, “I wish she was here right now. She makes me feel better.”

“How?” Caduceus asks. 

“She just does.”

Caduceus looks at the ground. He puts his hand to the dirt and runs his palm along the earth.

“She can’t come back,” he says softly. “You know that, right?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Caduceus nods. “I  _am_ sorry,” he tries again. “Really. I…I wish I knew how to make you feel better.”

“I wish you did too,” the girl sighs. Her chin is resting against her knees. “I just miss her. I wish she wasn’t gone. I wish she was here, instead of just stupid, empty dirt.”

Caduceus considers this. Then:

“Chrysanthemums?” he asks.

The girls’ eyes dart up again. “What?”

“Your mom’s favorite flower. Chrysanthemums, right? There are different colors. What kind?”

The girl opens her mouth. She closes it again. She frowns, and thinks, and then looks relieved when she remembers.

“Yellow.”

He nods. 

“Okay,” he says. “Watch.”

Caduceus Clay gets up from the earth and carefully brushes off his trousers. Then he crouches down again, presses his palms to the ground, closes his eyes. His hair drifts against his face in waves, and the corner of his mouth is curled in concentration. He has practiced this spell many,  _many_ times before, and though he knows what he is doing, this is the first time he has done it for something as important as this.

  _Chrysanthemums,_  he thinks.  _Yellow Chrysanthemums_.

He feels the soundless squish of fertile earth beneath his fingers. He feels the caress of twirling air past his cheek. He feels the sun warm on his back, smells the sweet song of spring nectar, bites down on his tongue to focus and hears the lilting, far-off cry of a swallow.

He feels the magic taking hold. He feels something stirring in the soil.

When he opens his eyes, it is to see a wreath of swaying blooms. He is suddenly crouched shoulder-deep among tall green stems of that end in bursts of thin gold petals, like thousands of tiny fireworks pressed together in light. They shuffle as he stands, as he admires his work, turns to beam with pride at the little girl he has done this for.

But then he pauses. He frowns.

Mixed within these yellow chrysanthemums are dozens and dozens of a different sort of plant.

These are much taller, to start, towering over the chrysanthemums by a good foot or so. They are thin, and fragile-looking, and lean with the wind as it blows in across the clearing. Their stems are covered in wide clusters of red and purple and pale pink leaves—no. Not leaves, but flowers.

It takes Caduceus a moment to realize. 

“Sweet pea?” he breathes out, confused. He takes a step forward, and catches one in his hands.

“Sweet pea,” he repeats. “Huh.”

And then there is movement. The little girl has stood up. She has taken a step closer, and is pressing a finger to the petals too.

“Is that what this is?”

Caduceus nods. “Yeah. Um…sorry. I didn’t mean for them to happen.”

But the girl seems entranced. She just shakes her head.

“No, um…no,” she says. “It’s…my mom called me that. She said it’s what her mom called her.”

Caduceus blinks. He looks at the flowers.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh. I…oh.”

She runs her finger along a petal with the utmost care.

“It’s pretty,” she murmurs. “It’s…it’s really pretty.”

Caduceus is encouraged by this. “I’m glad,” he says quickly. “I wanted to help. And you said that this place was empty, so…I wanted to change that. I can’t bring your mom back, but I can at least make sure that something’s here.”

The little girl glances at another swaying stalk.

“Sweet pea,” she repeats. “Huh.”

Caduceus twists nervously at his sleeves.

“Is it…is it—”

And then a pair of arms slide around his waist.

“Thanks,” the little girl whispers. “It’s not the same, but…it’s nice. Thanks.”   

Caduceus grins. Relieved, and thrilled.

“I’m sorry she’s gone,” he says one last time. “I’m glad I helped.”

She gives a soft nod.

And all around them, flowers sway in the breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Please consider leaving comments or kudos, and feel free to leave me a request [over on tumblr @sockablock!!](https://sockablock.tumblr.com/)


End file.
